And that's what tore me apart.

I remember one night--

six months after we were over.

I thought I was good.

I had moved on

(as on as I could get)

and I felt happy.

But that night, it started.

The second wave.

And this time,

it wasn't all because

I had lost you.

It was also because

in that moment

I knew

there was no way in hell

that you were thinking about me,

too.

This sounded a lot creepier on paper than it did in my head.

I often wish I were young enough to love a boy again, instead of a man.

Men have experienced too much life; they've lost that irresistible sweetness that boys seem to just have, sitting in their eyes, like pools of untainted honey.